Fading into Silence

All throughout my skin,
can't scrub off the dirt.
My eyes grow weary;
don’t know if I’m still living.
My soul feels obsolete,
and others can’t perceive
if I’m still breathing.
The sun doesn't warm anymore.
Lies don’t feel the same, not like before.
Nothing is tangible, nothing to grasp,
no control, not past me, not past you.
The construct—a fiber entwined, bound with my existence.
If only it vanished and with it took
the weariness from my heart.
A far cry from my tenet,
living by absolutes, and death is a viable one.